District Six, Male
by SongofFete
Summary: Tyndareus is reaped into the thirty-second games. The story of the male morphling. One-shot.


Tyndareus threw up when he was reaped.

He hadn't meant to, of course. All the fourteens talked about what they'd do if their name was chosen. Tyndareus had insisted he would walk quietly to the stage, head held high, and remain strong and silent. Instead he froze, swayed on the spot, almost tripped over his own feet when one of the other lads gave him a gentle shove before the peacekeepers could reach him, then vomited his breakfast all over his shoes.

The only good thing was that he hadn't actually been sick on camera. He wiped his hand across his mouth as he was walking what felt like a hundred miles to the stage, and that was okay, the sort of nervous gesture anyone might display. But the edges of his vision were blurring and he slowed almost to a halt without even realising, and Violetta Rushmere had to call out to him encouragingly, the sort of thing they say when a little kid gets reaped.

The knowledge that he didn't want to humiliate himself further was what finally brought him to some sort of sense. His legs still felt numb, but he made it to the stage with the peacekeepers flanking, not dragging him. And once he was there, he managed the strong and silent thing quite well, mainly because he was terrified that if he opened his mouth he would vomit some more. He managed to shake hands with Kara Loller even as he hoped she wouldn't wonder why the back of his hand was damp and sticky. He really, really wanted a glass of water.

His parents were the first visitors in the justice building. Mum burst into tears and wrapped him in a hug, and he didn't dare ask if she'd seen him throw up. He just wanted that hug to last forever, but it passed in a blur, all their love and advice and farewells, and afterwards he couldn't even remember what his parents or his little brother had said.

Next came his shift team, all five of them. Yesterday they'd all been laughing and joking about having two whole days off, even Tyndareus and Wylie who were still reaping age. Glasser, the foreman, clapped him on the shoulder and said they'd expect him back at work in a month, and Tyndareus managed to laugh and nod, even as tears sprung to his eyes that he had to blink away. Lora said she expected him to take him out for dinner when he got home, as if she didn't know he'd been trying to get up the courage to ask her out for the last year.

Then they left and Tyndareus was alone with his thoughts, none of them good. Oh, he knew what he was supposed to do. Think about his strengths, make plans, keep calm...all the stuff his team had talked about when they were out fixing the tracks. Back when he'd first joined, three years earlier, only Glasser had been over reaping age and it had felt more real. Every year someone else was safe and after the reaping they went out to celebrate, choosing one of the many bars in Six that didn't care how old you were so long as you had a few credits to spend. Tyndareus couldn't think of anything that marked him out as special or interesting or a survivor, so he just thought about the bar they'd gone to last year, how he'd thrown up then too, only it had been okay because that was out in the open air and Link helped him back to their barrack and made him drink a glass of water before he passed out.

Tyndareus had felt like death the next morning, but he felt worse when two peacekeepers finally came and escorted him onto the train. All he wanted to do was run and hide, find somewhere he felt safe because he was sure, so sure that he was going to be dead in a matter of days. His stomach was on the verge of rebelling again as he stood on the platform next to Kara, not daring to look her in the eye in case she looked as scared as he was, or what would be worse, if she didn't look scared at all and he read his own death in her grey eyes. Somehow his feet carried him onto the train, into more luxury and comfort than he'd ever seen in his life, and into the company of two women he'd only ever seen at a distance.

Mercedes and Leda. Six's Victors, both female. Both looking sad and resigned and yet there was strength in Mercede's eyes as she crossed to Kara and said she would be mentoring her this year. Tyndareus felt a strange sinking feeling as he watched her lead the female tribute into a car further down the train. Leda, Six's most recent Victor, had won four years earlier at the age of eighteen, in one of those years when the default winner is the one who is slowest to die from their injuries. Leda had almost died when it had come down to her and the boys from Four and Two; only the fact that they were both already injured from fighting the pair from One meant she'd stood a chance at all.

Rumour had it she'd never managed to wean herself off the morphling they'd given her while she recovered.

"Hi" was all he managed, and then she was leading him to a table laden with food and – best of all – an ornate jug of cool, clear water – and Tyndareus thought her sunken eyes, jerky movements and yellowish skin were the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. He reached for the jug and poured a crystalline glass of water, drinking it slowly. His hands were shaking.

"Its okay. I was scared when I got reaped. So was Mercedes" she said slowly, with a faraway expression in her eyes.

"But you won..."

"Maybe you will, too"

Tyndareus frowned. Mentors were supposed to encourage their tributes, not say 'maybe' in a vague fashion as if they didn't care. Or was it a test, like on Tyndareus's first day with his team when he saw Link miss the switch plates. He hadn't wanted to look like he was showing off, so he'd asked his new supervisor about it. Glasser had thrown an arm around him and told the rest of the team that this one was okay, he wasn't scared to speak out, and that night they'd gone to a bar, snuck Wylie and Tyndareus in through the back door and bought him his first beer. Since that day Tyndareus had felt safe, part of a team.

Until now. Now, he was completely on his own unless he found some allies, and so far Kara didn't seem like she was interested.

"Do you want to eat first, or see your room?" Tyndareus was shocked out of his thoughts when he heard Leda's voice for the first time. Slightly slurred, but soft and lilting, as if he was listening to music distorted by distance. He nodded, and then "I threw up"

"I know. I was looking right at you when you were picked. But the cameras didn't see. Now, what can you do?"

"I'm a fourteen..." he muttered, but to his surprise he didn't get any further than that

"Good. You're strong, then? Not afraid of hard work? That's a start..."

Tyndareus hadn't considered those things to be strengths, but he supposed he might have an advantage of Kara. She was smaller and shorter than he was, and from her outfit he assumed she was one of those rare individuals who remained in school all the way to eighteen. Passing all their tests, remaining another year, then another, until one a job in the engineering factory beckoned. Perhaps even in the planning department, if you were really lucky... Tyndareus, failing the first compulsory test and this becoming a Fourteen, leaving to work on a railroad shift team, had never considered himself particularly clever. But how clever did you have to be to stay alive?

Tyndareus lay on a huge bed, mind whirling. His room in the tribute centre was as large as the entire barrack back home, where the four lads slept in one room, Glasser had a private area as foreman and Lora, the only woman in their team slept in a bunk just off the kitchen. Here, he could choose any clothes he liked, eat literally anything he could think of...

He was still a tribute though. The parade hadn't been too bad. Their stylists' idea of District Six costumes were abbreviated versions of railroad workers' uniforms, if one assumed that shirts were unnecessary and everyone wore tiny pairs of shorts. It was embarrassing, but not nearly as bad as the tributes from Ten who were actually dressed as sheep, complete with hooves so they couldn't hold on to their chariot. Tyndareus was still shuddering at the shrieks and cheers of the Capitol audience as the small girl had tumbled off and hit her head on the hard floor.

Tomorrow he would have to face them all again. Three full day of training, which basically meant learning how to survive as long as possible and kill off the rest of the kids who were just trying to stay alive.

Tyndareus had barely slept. He'd made it through three days of training, following Leda's advice to avoid the more complex weapons and concentrate on survival skills, though he had spent the afternoon of the second day learning how to use a knife so he wouldn't accidentally cut his own fingers off if he managed to get his hands on one. He failed at lighting a fire, excelled at camouflage and learned how to skin a rabbit, and not to eat it raw. His efforts to find allies had led precisely nowhere. Kara had refused to ally because she was terrified he would kill her while she slept, purely because he was so much bigger than she was, and most of the other tributes were either unwilling to ally with anyone or were sticking with their district partners. Districts One and Two had allied with the girl from Seven and made no secret of their plans to take control of the Cornucopia, as they had done for the last half dozen years in what was becoming a predictable part of the games. It looked like he was going to spend his last days alone.

Which was why, sometime before dawn on the day of the interviews, Tyndareus found himself in the kitchen, drinking black coffee in the hopes it would keep him awake for another day.

Kara cried through her interview. It was pitiful to watch, and Tyndareus couldn't help feeling sorry for her. She was one of the oldest tributes in the games, but she had barely tried during training, mainly sticking to the edible plants station and scoring a pitiful three. It made Tyndareus's five look halfway respectable even if he was convinced he was going to throw up again when his name was called for his interview. Four days earlier he hadn't even known stage fright was a thing, but now he was willing his stomach to stop churning and his knees not to shake.

And then something odd happened. One minute he was sitting down in front of a baying crowd and wishing it was all going to be over, and then he was answering questions.

"What's the best thing about District Six?"

"My shift team. They're the best mates anyone could ever have"

"Is there anyone special back home?"

"My Mum and Dad, and my little brother. And..."

"And..? Is there a special someone?"

"Naah, not really. Though if I get back home I promised I'd take Lora - she's on my shift team - out for dinner"

"Oh, I'm sure she's looking forward to that."

"I hope so. If I win I'm going to buy the biggest dinner she's ever seen. With THREE flavours of ice cream for dessert! And chocolate!"

"Any last words for us, Tyndareus?"

"I just want to say thank you to my mentor, Leda. She's been amazing and I hope I can make her proud"

"I'm sure you wi-" and then the buzzer went off, and he was back in his seat wondering what all the fuss had been about with applause and cheers ringing in his ears. The interview had hardly been fascinating, but at least he'd strung a few sentences together, which was more than could be said for what was an undeniably weak selection of tributes for that year. Only the girl from Seven stood out as she talked about her allies and how fierce they were.

Tyndareus didn't sleep that night either.

A chill wind blew across the plain as Tyndareus stood on his pedestal. The timer read thirty six...thirty five...thirty four seconds and a small whisper at the back of his mind said all he had to do was take one step, just one before the counter reached zero and it would be over. No more fear, just...nothing. Except he didn't, because Leda had told him, not that she knew for sure of course, but a rumour she'd heard that in the twenty seventh games someone had deliberately leapt off their pedestal and their family had mysteriously died in an accident. Just a rumour, of course, and she'd said it quietly, so quietly as she drank coffee with him on that last interminably long night, but it probably wasn't a good idea...

Eight...seven...six... The girl from district One was closest to him. She'd flirted through her interview and talked about how good she was at throwing spears, and as much as Tyndareus was desperate to get away from her...he looked down. Looked at the things that were closest to him, things that the real fighters weren't going to bother with. The gong sounded and he leapt to the ground, sprinting in ten feet and grabbing the knife he'd mentally claimed as his own because it was small and a lot less interesting than the swords and spears that already the stronger tributes were aiming for...He spun around to head out, grabbing the waterskin that had been lying close to the knife and then taking a precious extra two seconds to snatch up a length of rope, simply because it was there and he could reach it easily.

Tyndareus ran. He was strong, and he had stamina, and he was full of adrenaline fuelled by the black coffee he'd been drinking when he couldn't sleep. He ran on the plain, and then he ran from the screams, and then he began running uphill until he was in the foothills of the mountain range that encircled that year's arena. Tyndareus may have been seventeen years old, strong and muscular and capable of working a ten hour shift with only a fifteen minute break, but he was no killer, and once the adrenalin began to wear off he was tired, so tired...

He wasn't running now but weaving, determined to stay on his feet for as long as possible until he found somewhere safe where he could rest. He found the cave entirely by accident, stumbled inside before he realised where he was, and dropped to his knees in relief. Only then did he open his waterskin and drink almost half the contents before he could remind himself that he had no way of getting more water and managed to stop. His whole body trembling, he crawled deeper into the cave and flinched every time he heard a cannon boom.

Ten times.

Fourteen left.

Thirteen people between him and going home.

Tyndareus crawled further into the cave and collapsed into a fitful yet deep sleep.

It was the scratching noise that woke him. Lying concealed behind a huge boulder he held his breath as something came closer and closer, crawling into his cave, closer and closer to his hiding place. It was dark in the cave and he could make out a shadow, something that might be a wolf or a coyote, coming closer and closer, just a few feet from his hiding place.

Tyndareus raised and lowered his knife with a panicked shriek, stabbing again and again before a cannon sounded, deafeningly loud after two days of silence and he realised he'd become a killer. He didn't even recognise the girl, much less knew her name. It was only when he saw her face in the sky that night that he found out she was from district eight. Horrified, he crawled deeper still into his cave.

Now hiding from his own demons as well as the other tributes, nonetheless hunger drove him from his cave. His time at the survival stations had paid off when he found blackberries growing nearby, water from a mountain stream to refill his waterskin, and he collected all he could until another noise sent him scuttling back to his hiding place. He ignored the fanfare, the anthem. He didn't want to know.

Another two days passed and this time a boy came close to his cave.

Tyndareus had a choice. He could walk out, weaponless, and wait to die. Or he could take his knife in his hand and be one step closer to going home.

He threw up once again as he looked down at the broken body of the thirteen year old who had just wanted to go home, the same as he did.

On the sixth day he was sent a packet of crackers. The sight of the sponsor gift and the knowledge that someone out there wanted him to live made him wonder for the first time whether he actually could win.

When a feast was announced, he intended to watch from afar, if only to find out how many tributes were left, but after eight days with nothing more substantial than berries and crackers, he was starving. A mixture of water and cave dust darkened his face and hands so they blended in with the landscape. His clothes were already as nondescript as the largely barren land. As he crept down the mountainside Tyndareus was almost beyond fear, giddy with the knowledge that he'd come this far and that there was food waiting just a couple of miles away.

He arrived late to the feast; by accident rather than design having underestimated how long it would take him to descent the mountain in his weakened state. Two girls and a boy were fighting; a terrible scene with spears and knives, and one of the girls staggered away as the other two continued to battle. Tyndareus crept closer, meaning to grab the single loaf of bread that was to be the only reward as the pair fought but he stepped on the bled-out body of another boy and let out a strangled cry, surprising the Seven girl who was fatally distracted from her own fight.

"Thanks. I'll make it quick for you" said the boy Tyndareus recognised as the volunteer tribute from One as he swung his sword in expert fashion.

Tyndareus was relatively fresh whereas the boy had already fought two battles, but he was up against an expert. Somehow he managed to stab the boy's hand as he swung his sword up against Tyndareus's ribs, and the sword did less damage than it would have done with full power behind the stroke. Terror drove the Six boy on and he swung his knife indiscriminately, shrieking as he advanced. The Two boy fought back with fists and feet, but Tyndareus was his equal in strength and more used to hardship, and as much by luck as judgement, he won the battle.

Staggering away as he chewed feverishly on the mouldy bread Tyndareus wasn't thinking of anything at all.

As dusk fell, a massive coyote that could only be a mutt emerged from behind a scrubby bush far too small for it to have hidden there, growling with menace. Tyndareus's only thought was to get away as he ran gasping for breath through his parched and burning throat, practically stumbling over a blood-covered body. The mutt turned and strolled calmly away.

Tyndareus knew what he had to do. The girl was so far gone from her injuries it would barely count as murder this time. A cannon shot rang out and then, amazingly

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you, the winner of the Thirty-Second Hunger Games, Tyndareus Lexia of District Six"

Tyndareus's physical injuries healed far quicker than his mental ones. He was pleased to see his family, quick to invite his team round to his new house, but it was an empty shell of the formerly gregarious boy who they welcomed home. During the day he managed a veneer of normality, trying to cling to his former life, but at night the ghosts came to visit. They stood at his bed and whispered about how he'd killed them, how he didn't deserve to be alive.

He quickly came to understand why Mercedes and Leda lived together in a single house in Victor's Village; Mercedes' family sharing the one assigned to the first Victor although she rarely slept there. After he woke his family with his screams for the fourth time in one night he broke in through Leda's kitchen window and spent the rest of the night on her sofa.

When the women woke up the next morning and offered the morphling syringe along with his breakfast coffee, Tyndareus barely hesitated.


End file.
